Will I Always Feel This Way?
by devinleighbee
Summary: Late night discussions at 221B. Sherlock/John established relationship


As he stumbled in the dark, returning to the bedroom, John couldn't help but think about how perfect his life was. The thought alone forced a smile onto his tired face and as much as he tried to hide it, the smile would not go away. He tip toed into the room and quietly got into bed, silently praying that he would not wake the sleeping figure on the other side. So far so good, and as his head nested into his pillow he began praising himself for not rousing his partner. His silent celebration did not last long however and seconds later a deep voice rang out in the darkness, vibrating in his chest.

"John, are you aware you look positively mad when you grin like that?" Sherlock sleepily asked.

"Look who's talking, you're the maddest man I know," John grunted in reply, disappointed that he had not managed to not wake Sherlock on his way back from the loo.  
>"I see your point. What's got you in such a good mood?"<p>

"You…us…_this,_" John turned to face his partner and continued, "I'm the luckiest man alive I think."

"There's no such thing as luck, John," Sherlock kept his eyes shut but not even he couldn't stop the twitch in the corner of his mouth, threatening to turn into a grin.

"Alright, so I'm the happiest man alive then."

"Mmmm, for now," Sherlock mumbled this reply, he knew it would set off red flags in John's brain and he didn't really fancy a serious discussion right now but the words had slipped out anyway before he could stop himself. Clearly upset by his partner's comment, John's smile fell and was replaced by a slight frown. His eyes, which had been filled with joy seconds before, now showed hurt and confusion. He shifted his body and propped his head up with his elbow. Looking down at the man below him, he waited until Sherlock pried his eyes open to speak.

"And that's supposed to mean what exactly?" To which Sherlock sighed and forced his eyes closed again. "Sherlock, I mean it. Tell me what that meant."

"I'll disappoint you, I won't be everything you need. You deserve so much more than I can give you," John shook his head at this and started to speak but Sherlock was quicker and cut him off before the other man could speak, "I'm not going to change, I'll continue to upset you and neglect you when I have a case. The experiments won't stop, and I'm not getting rid of the body parts in the fridge. You're a patient man, John, but not that much. You'll want to leave-"

"Hush now, how could you think that? I haven't left yet, have I?" John's chest was tightening; was Sherlock getting cold feet? Was this his way of saying he changed his mind? As if Sherlock could read John's thoughts, he shook his head, his dark curls dancing across the pillow below him.

"You'll want to though. You're better off marrying someone like Sarah," he spit out her name as if it was a dirty word, "Safer, more reliable."

"Maybe, but I didn't ask Sarah to marry me, did I? I asked you, you git," It was true, only three days, five hours, and forty-six minutes ago, John had gotten down on one knee and proposed to Sherlock. They had been together for nearly a year, and John couldn't wait any longer. He longed to be attached to the man he loved in a way that he wasn't yet. He wanted to be legally bonded as well as spiritually, and the perks of a legal marriage didn't hurt. If he were being truly honest with himself, he'd admit that marrying Sherlock would resolve any doubts he had with their relationship and would fill him with a certain kind of joy being just boyfriends couldn't give him. He loved the mad detective laying next to him and wanted the entire world to know it.

"I'm not stupid. I know what I'm getting into," John continued, "Hell, I'm in it now aren't I? Do you really think a piece of paper is really going to change us? Sherlock, love, if you're not ready just tell me. We don't have to rush into this."

"I most certainly am ready, John. And I'd hardly call entering an engagement after a year rushing things," Sherlock scoffed, "But, John, are _you_ ready? Are you sure this…_I'm _really what you want?" Sherlock voice had gone shaky, no longer filled with his usual confidence. He blinked up at John, hoping that the doctor above him would catch the fear in his eyes and know what he was feeling. Expressing emotion had never come easily to him but something about being with John encouraged him to admit his thoughts and feelings in a way he never had before.

John quickly recognized his mistake. Sherlock wasn't trying to back out of the promise he'd made to John but rather wanted comfort and reinforcement that John would continue to love him no matter what happened. The hurt in John's eyes quickly faded and was replaced with fondness for the man below him. The arm that he was not resting on moved from his hip and he cupped the other mans face, letting his thumb caress Sherlock's cheek. Sherlock relaxed into John's hand and let his eyes droop closed. And as John leaned down to place a light kiss on his partner's forehead, Sherlock felt his body relax in relief, John had figured out what he was feeling. John rested his forehead on the spot he had just kissed and sighed trying to find the right words to say.

"You'll always be enough, and you'll always be what I want. I promise," John's voice was barely above a whisper but it was enough to fill Sherlock's body with warmth and brought back the feeling in his gut that John called "butterflies". Sherlock lifted his head up until his lips met John's, the softness of his lover's lips melted into his own and the now familiar taste of tea and toothpaste crept into his mouth.  
>John shifted his body so that he hovered over the man below him as their kiss deepened. His hand snaked underneath the soft material of Sherlock's t-shirt and ran his thumb against his lovers side, playing with the sharp bones in his hip. Sherlock lifted his head just a bit, and nipped John's bottom lip, trying to take control over the kiss. But John would have none of that; if John had to be submissive and controlled in their daytime activities, there was no chance in hell that he'd allow that control to carry into the bedroom. He snuck his hand out from under Sherlock's shirt and pushed the other man's shoulder back down into the bed. When the man under him tried to sit up again, John tightened his grip and pulled his lips off the other man's.<p>

"Lie down and let me kiss you. That's an order," He breathed into Sherlock's mouth. His breath hot against his lips. Sherlock didn't need to be told twice and sunk back into the bed, letting John take full control. The fierceness returned and John kissed him with such passion that the doubts Sherlock had earlier had been completely forgotten. They clawed at each other, nipping, and licking, and exploring each others lips like a pair of wild hormonal teenagers.

Panting from the lack of oxygen, John pulled away from his lover's lips and rested his head in the crook of Sherlock's neck. This is how he wanted to remember them as when he was old and grey, mad for each other and blissfully ignorant of the world around them. He smiled into Sherlock's skin which smelled faintly of cinnamon and soap, and with a choked giggle he said, "You're going to have to tell Mycroft about the engagement," Sherlock groaned like a child being told to clean his room. "Oh hush, be nice and maybe he'll get us an expensive wedding gift." At that Sherlock began to chuckle, the deep laugh pulsating throughout John's body. John moved his body again, this time so he was directly above Sherlock's face. He looked into Sherlock's light blue eyes, and studied the way his eyelashes fluttered when he blinked. John took a curl that framed Sherlock's face into his fingers and played with the soft hair, then moved his hand back down to the other man's cheeks. Sherlock snuggled into the warm hand clasping his face and closed his eyes. He knew that soon the pair of them would be overtaken by sleep but didn't want the moment to end. He felt John moving closer to him, their lips touching so softly but full of love. Sherlock's eyes lazily opened back up as John pulled back, and gave the man above him a pouting look which said he wanted more. John laughed quietly.

"I love you," John whispered to the man below him.

"Mmm…quite right, John Watson, I-"

John jolted awake with a sob, and turned to look to the empty spot next to him on the big bed. He brought his hands together in a mad furry and ran his fingers over the cool, golden band around his finger to make sure it was still there. He was desperate to confirmed that Sherlock had been real, that their love had existed and the wedding band around his finger was proof that he had not imagined the brilliant detective. His body and mind ached with the pain the dream, or rather memory, had caused him. He could feel his body tighten and run cold, it wouldn't be long before the tears would fall.

It had been two years, two hundred and thirty nine days since the day Sherlock had jumped from the hospital rooftop. Everyone had assured John that he would get better with time, that soon he would learn to cope with the death of his husband but he never did. He went through life in a haze without Sherlock. Doing only the bare minimum to get him through the day. He was incomplete without the mad detective, John was alive but he didn't live. John had once thought of Sherlock and him as a pair of shoes, perfectly matched and made for each other. Lose one and the other becomes useless. Just another piece of junk that you throw in the back of the closet and forget about. That's what John was now, the shoe left behind praying that his missing partner would return and complete their pair.

The tears were steadily approaching now, and his throat began to burn and tighten. He shifted to look at the famed photograph next to the bed, John's favorite from their small wedding ceremony. The photo showed the pair of them smiling lovingly and happily into each others eyes. The ceremony had been quiet and nice, but what John would remember most was the way Sherlock had smiled the entire day, like he had never been happier in his entire life. His eyes flickered down to the simple gold band that sat below the photograph. It had been Sherlock's and a perfect match to the band John wore. The widower tenderly picked up the ring and brought it's smooth surface to his lips, then clasped it in his palm and brought it to his chest. John turned away and faced the spot Sherlock was meant to be, supposed to be. He imagined the man the way he had looked in the dream, flat on his back staring up at the ceiling. The imaginary Sherlock turned to look John in the eye, and gave him a concerned look as if he was asking what was wrong. Wetness pooled onto John's pillow as he let the tears flow freely now. The imagined Sherlock furrowed his eyebrows together and his mouth tightened into a slight frown and brought his hand to John's face and silent tears now streamed down the imaginary man's face. But there was no Sherlock. No one was holding John's face and comforting him as he cried. The tears continued to build until they turned into ragged sobs.

"Please, _please_, come home, for me. Sherlock," John whispered to the empty pillow next to him, "I love you."


End file.
